


Shimmering Splendid

by MrsNoggin



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley is a snek, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Angst, Sad Angel, Snake Crowley, fic prompt, so much love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 16:06:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19727059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsNoggin/pseuds/MrsNoggin
Summary: For the 666 Fics Fics Fics prompt challenge: Snake.“Show me there’s still beauty.” Aziraphale requests, begs, solemnly, trustingly.





	Shimmering Splendid

**Author's Note:**

> Another 666 prompt. Somehow, instead of smut, this ended up with a Sad Angel and a Comforting Snek. I'd apologise, but I'm not actually sorry. Yes, the title comes from Aladdin, I am not ashamed. Unbetaed, read at your own risk.

Sometimes people are just horrid. Sometimes Aziraphale loses his faith in humanity entirely and wonders if he made the right decision after all, if deep down his selfish desire to fight for them was pure folly. Sometimes he has to just give up and stop looking at them because everything he sees makes his heart dim and struggle, pitter-pattering weakly in his ribcage, slowing the flow of his blood pathetically until his limbs ache as badly as the rest of him seems to. Those times, he curls up under his puffy quilt and pretends he can sleep. 

Crowley finds him there now, in his dark cold thoughts, in his dark cold bedroom. He knows nothing he can _say_ will make any difference, so he sheds his clothes wordlessly, slithers in on himself until he is one long, inhuman line of muscle, bone and scale, and slides slowly across the floor. He worms his way up the bed, under the covers, nuzzling with his smooth head until he finds the warm kiss of skin. 

He is sensitive like this, all over, feeling the rumple of linen and the stickiness of stale sweat dragging at his skin. He strokes with his movements, working his way up soothingly, his silky body caressing and heavy until he finds chest. Then he winds his way around, slipping through the frame of an armpit and under tense body and wraps again. He pulls tighter until he can feel slow inhales stretching him taut, shoves his head under the angel’s neck. It’s warm there; Aziraphale is totally hidden under the duvet, uncaring of oxygen or the existence of the world outside. 

Aziraphale doesn’t push him away. He just sighs, weighty and unrelieved. Crowley is unsatisfied by this. The angel’s eyelids are closed tight against the agonies of seeing life and _feeling_ every spiky part of it, so Crowley flickers out his tongue to taste the salt of them, nuzzles his silken nose into the crust of his eyelashes and follows the damp trails beneath. 

“Sorry.” A croaky whisper. 

No, don’t be sorry, he needs to say, don’t be sorry for being so pure and feeling, that these people are breaking you with every thoughtless and thoughtful cruelty they inflict upon each other. But he doesn’t want to hiss, and he doesn’t want to force humanity on an angel so clearly exhausted by it, so he tickles his tongue against Angel lips in an apology of his own. Aziraphale’s mouth curls up a millimetre or two at the left hand corner, and he kisses him back, a soft press of lips on his bony head. 

Aziraphale mumbles wordless heartbroken nonsense into the cool satin scales of him. It makes the snake writhe, sliding soothingly around every limb he can find and smearing his searching skull into the curve of shoulder-becoming-neck. 

And Crowley wishes he could do this forever; wrap around until he is actually a _part of him_ , absorb the warmth of his soul, bask and sun himself in that golden light, while holding Aziraphale up and steady, let him lean into the strength of the demon that wants him to be… to just _be_. 

Aziraphale’s eyes are open now, all the colours of the rainbow and none at all, looking into him and seeing something Crowley isn’t sure he ever wanted to reveal. 

“Show me there’s still beauty.” Aziraphale requests, begs, solemnly, trustingly. “Please.”

Crowley lets go of his scales and lets them spread out into skin, comes back into form with his arms full of angel and his heart aching just at the feel of him there. He leans in, places his lips carefully against those so close to his, and breathes him in, kisses him the way he has always wished to.

There is nothing so beautiful to an angel made of love, as love itself. Crowley feels there is enough love in him right now to share with the whole damn universe, and he will hold none of it back.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Join me for further discourse on [ Twitter](https://twitter.com/KatNoggin).
> 
> Comments and kudos make my world go round. Please and thank you.


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